


Behind Closed Doors

by Ange_de_la_Mort



Category: Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Forced Orgasm, M/M, Mind Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-20 23:14:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ange_de_la_Mort/pseuds/Ange_de_la_Mort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What really happened at San Diego Comic Con.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind Closed Doors

**Author's Note:**

> To fully understand the context, you really ought to take a look at [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ayDHYDejHhc) footage from SDCC.   
> (Even if you don't care about the context, look at it either way. It's awesome.)

His steps are heavy and uneven as he staggers backstage and makes his way towards his dressing room. People – mortals, he thinks and quickly shakes that thought off. His colleagues. His friends. Not mortals, never mortals – grin at him, giving him thumbs-ups and knowing nods, pat him on the back. “Good job,” he hears them say and forces a smile, a few words of thanks.  
  
His skin feels too tight, too hot, and when he finally reaches the dressing room, he stumbles inside, closes the door behind him. And he falls to his knees. By now, he should be used to it. He really should be, but every time anew it is … too much. Not the leather, though it’s tight and hot and chafing, not the armour weighing him down. But the feeling of giving himself over, of not being his own person at all. Laughter is ringing in his ears as he feels the god’s presence caress his mind.  
  
“Have you seen them?” Loki whispers in his mind, the words echoing in his consciousness. “Have you heard them? Hoards of mortal minions, all ready to heed to my every order.”  
  
Tom whimpers, shaking his head. He wants to stand up, wants to strip out of gold and green and black, wants to force the presence out of his body; the presence that possesses him every time he touches the costume, but he finds his limbs not responding at all. His body doesn’t belong to him right now, and he knows it he still tries to fight, even though he _can’t_ , for how could a man ever fight a god?  
  
“You did well, Thomas,” Loki coos, and Tom can almost _hear_ the smile in his voice. “And I did well to choose you as my vessel in this realm. You’re such a good slave. You really deserve a reward.”  
  
“N-no,” Tom gasps, even though he already spreads his legs, even though his right hand already sneaks down to cup himself through his trousers. “Don’t … ,” he breathes, but cannot stop his own long fingers from opening his fly and curling around his flesh.  
  
“’Don’t’ what, Thomas?” Loki snarls, even though it’s only Tom’s mouth that moves at all, that forms words which are not his own. “Is this not enough for you? Tell me, what is it you are yearning for? My fingers on your body? My mouth on your skin? Oh, I will grant you all of this when I finally have this realm under my control.”  
  
He can only shake his head and bite down on his lower lip.  
  
“No?” Loki purrs and forces Tom to stroke his cock up and down, caress the whole length with gently fingers that don’t feel like his own anymore. Loki’s grip is firmer, crueller as he plays with Tom’s foreskin, as he pulls it back and thumbs at the small slit, teases it mercilessly, until Tom groans and whimpers, until his eyes close on their own, and he can see Loki’s smirking face in front of him.  
  
“Do you dislike the thought of me ruling over your weak species?” Tom nods hastily, and Loki laughs. “Up with you!” he snarls.  
  
Invisible strings force him upward, take control over him once more. He panics. He does it every time Loki takes over to play his perverse games, to taunt him, to relish in the sick and twisted pleasure of seeing Tom dance to his every order. His legs move on their own, dragging him towards the full-length mirror Tom used an hour ago to dress up. He looks at his reflection, at his flushed face and leaking cock, and he shivers at the sight of his mirror-image changing and transforming, until he no longer sees himself, but instead the god who has invaded his mind and body and soul: Even though they are very much alike, there are still differences between them. Loki is thinner than Tom, taller, with higher, sharper cheekbones and a smirk that cuts through steel and ice and life itself. And his eyes are green, so green, so bright, and his gaze is menacing, piercing into Tom’s very being.  
  
“Tell me once more how much you wished for me to be real.”  
  
“This … this isn’t what I agreed to!”  
  
Loki laughs, a terrible sound that makes Tom’s skin crawl – and even more so as he realizes that the sound is coming out of his own mouth. “No,” Loki says, “you agreed to be mine, Thomas. You agreed to be my vessel, agreed for me to use you whenever I please.”  
  
“I wanted to know you,” Tom gasps, then groans as his hand – Loki’s hand – is back on his cock, stroking and touching and almost _hurting_. He wanted to know him, to be able to play him, wanted to _understand_ Loki’ and his pain and suffering. But not this, never this.  
  
“And you know me,” Loki says gently, forces Tom to his knees, pushes his trousers down, only to cup his balls with one hand and lick over two fingers of the other one, “just like I know you.”  
  
And with this, the fingers slip inside him. Tom moans in pained pleasure and his body slumps forward, his head resting against the cool glass of the mirror. There is sweat on his brow, on his trembling lower lip. His breath hitches in his throat as the fingers curl inside him, fill him up and tease his insides slowly, cruelly.  
  
“All of them will kneel. Just like you are doing now.”  
  
“Ah,” Tom can only gasp and move his body backwards, rock between the hand on his cock and the fingers inside his body – and they are deep inside him, so deep, brushing against _this_ little spot over and over again. His cock hangs heavy between his legs, and he is hard, almost impossibly hard, and he moans greedily at Loki’s hand spreading the first drops of his arousal all over his shaft.  
  
“You will kneel at my side, only wearing a collar and nothing more. They will love you, adore you, Thomas, even more than they do now, for they will know you were the one to bring their king to this realm in the first place.”  
  
It’s getting harder to breathe, harder to think, for he is close, so very close, and mingled with the pleasure Loki forces upon him, there are pictures now, images in his mind. He sees people kneel in front of them, hears their words of praise and thanks. They love him, for he has saved their lives and souls. They love him, for he belongs to Loki. He sees himself at Loki’s side, at his feet, between his legs as his consort, lover, slave, and suddenly – suddenly it doesn’t seem to bad anymore, not with Loki whispering pleasantries in his ear, not with Loki twisting his reality bit by bit without him noticing.  
  
The fingers inside him curl one more time, and then he comes, reaches his climax with a shout, spending all over his hand and the mirror, leaving white stains on the glass.  
  
Loki chuckles. “Clean yourself up, little mortal. Be quick about it – I am sure you wish not for anybody to see you like this.”  
  
Tom staggers to his feet, feeling dizzy and strangely liberated at the same time. He licks his lips and nods his head. Yes. Cleaning up is necessary, for he is hot and sweaty and cannot face their crowd like this.  
  
“And then get dressed. Enjoy your evening. I am proud of you, my pet.”  
  
“Thank you, master,” Tom says without realizing it.  
  
As he turns away from he mirror, his reflection smirks.


End file.
